


A world reborn

by EnjolrasTheRevolutionary



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21647944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnjolrasTheRevolutionary/pseuds/EnjolrasTheRevolutionary
Summary: Prompted by : The-oh-in-24601 over on Tumblr! Medieval au with eventual Enjoltaire. In which Enjolras has a secret identity and Grantaire pines.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	A world reborn

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a oneshot but it will be multichapter. Words with: * by them are explained in the end notes. If you leave kudos, please comment cause I have been working on this for way over 4 months.

The morning was surprisingly warm for this time of year. 

"I need to go." Enjolras said to the band of rebels he had gathered. From different parts of the kingdom, some from other kingdoms too, and all united under the same cause. 

"Where are you going?" One of the rebels asked. 

"It does not concern you. It's better if none of you get involved. I will meet you at the usual clearing." Enjolras said. 

"We will wait there." The rebel said. 

Enjolras nodded, and started walking. 

The thing about Enjolras was that, to the majority of the nobility, king included, he was known as Enjolras, a skilled diplomat. 

What the nobles did not know however, was that the most wanted rebel & criminal, known as "The fallen angel" and Enjolras was the very same person. Of course, no one knew what The fallen angel looked like. Only that he was young.

Enjolras changed to court appropriate clothes and went to get his horse from the court stables. 

Officially he was going to settle some dispute between two noble families who were about to wage war on the other. Inofficially, as his other self, he was there to get civilians to join his cause. 

He loved riding through this part of the kingdom, it was peaceful, and sometimes wild animals crossed his path. They were never afraid, here they lived in peace. It was the king's land, and no one would dare to hunt there.

The king certainly did not hunt there. He was too busy with drinking wine and visiting the local... ladies and of course, enforcing his rules. Above everything else, he valued his own rules. Not that he cared about the civilians, or the illegitimate children he left behind him. 

The slighest insult, or 'rulebreaking' was considered treason and could lead to the person being hanged. Usually it did too.

Now, Enjolras could see the town, and the river the arguement was about. Apart from that, there were two noblemen, standing on each side of the river and yelling at the other.

"It is my stream and I will not let you build a bridge here!" Shouted the man who stood on the other side of the stream as he called it, but to Enjolras that was a river. 

"It is a river you cumberworld!*" The other man shouted back. 

"It is a stream and you shall not build a bridge across it!" The other shouted. 

Enjolras got off his horse, tied it to a tree and walked up to the nobleman who was closest. 

"You are going to build a bridge here are you?" He said. 

"Yes, but this fool claims the river is his!" 

"It is a stream, and it is mine!" 

"We were here first! The Vaughans have lived here for centuries and I have every right to build the bridge here. It will make it easier to cross the river for everyone. Your family included, fool." Lord Tristan said, his tone bitter. 

Lord Tristan Vaughan was the one who wanted to build a bridge, but Lord Nicholas Mowbray, did not approve of that, since the Vaughans and the Mowbrays had been living on opposite sides of the Shessire river for as long as anyone could remember, and arguing for longer than that. 

"What seems to be the problem, my lords?" Enjolras asked. 

"This fool wants to build a bridge over my stream and if he does, I shall be glad to introduce him to my sword." Lord Nicholas said. 

"I shall be delighted to make its aquintance, and introduce you to mine in return." Lord Tristan replied.

"You will do no such thing. I remind you both that your king will take offence to that. He will execute the winner, and you both know that. Not only that, but you will most likely start a civil war." Enjolras said. 

"I am aware. I do not care. I need the bridge, for the river is too wide to cross any other way." Tristan said. 

"We have done just fine without your 'bridge' for years!" 

"Enough! Lord Tristan, you will build your bridge, but you will pay Lord Nicholas 750 silver for the use of his land." Enjolras the diplomat was stern when he needed to be, but Enjolras the outlaw was a different person entirely. 

Lord Tristan handed the silver over, and Enjolras could leave. 

Enjolras rode away and changed into the black hooded cloak, brown worn trousers, and a linen shirt that the outlaw wore.

He never liked the diplomat's clothes all that much. 

Now that he was anonymous once again, he went to the village tavern. To drink, just enough to make himself relaxed, and take the edge off. Nobles really took a toll on his patience. 

"What can I get you?" The man behind the counter asked. 

"The usual, please." Enjolras said. 

The man put a tankard on the counter, and Enjolras slipped him a few coins before he grabbed it, took a corner table, and watched the few other people there. 

Most of the chairs and tables were currently empty. Except for the village's drunks.

Enjolras was here for recruiting purposes, but he was not impressed with what he saw. Drunken men (and the occasional woman) stumbled around the tavern, usually to get another drink. 

One drunk was by himself at a table, a bottle in front of him, and a tankard laid fallen at his feet. 

The man had dark hair, wore a green linen shirt, and brown trousers. He was barefoot. 

Enjolras knew who he was. His name was Grantaire and Enjolras had met him once.

The drunk had gotten himself in trouble once. He had gotten too drunk, and started talking to a man's betrothed on the way home from the tavern. The words he had said had not been too nice, and, drunk though he had been, the man (and his betrothed) took great offence. It was, after all, considered very rude to call a nobleman what Grantaire had called him. It was a major insult onto the man's honor. Not to mention how utterly inappropriate he had been acting towards the young Lady Springhall. He had said 'I know a pig that is better looking than your bride to be.' among other things.

Grantaire had been taken to the stocks for that. It was not deemed serious enough for anything else, considering the state he was in. Enjolras decided he was going to talk to the sheriff and get the man free. There was something about him. 

Grantaire looked up at him. 

"What are you looking at?" He said, his words were slurred and it was obvious that the bottle in front of him was not the first he had had. 

"How are you?" Enjolras asked, cautiously. 

"What is it to you? Are you going to tell me to put the bottle down? That I have had enough?" Grantaire glared at him now. 

"No I was merely wondering how you were." It was clear to Enjolras that Grantaire had no idea who he was, the drinking had probably taken its toll on both his mind and his vision. Enjolras, also had his hood up, hiding his face from the world. 

"Spare me that. You do not care." Grantaire said. 

"How do you know that?" Enjolras answered. 

"Oh I know. I know the likes of you. You do not care about anyone. People like me however, are in here because we care too much about people who do not care for us. Therefore, we drown our sorrows in the bottle." Once Grantaire had finished the sentence, he put the bottle to his lips and drank. 

"I am not a noble if that is what you assume. Neither are you." Enjolras wanted to take the bottle from him but he did not. 

"Were I a noble, I would not be sitting here drinking the barkeep's moonshine. I would be drinking the finest of wines and dine at a fine table in a fancy house." Grantaire's tone was bitter. 

"If I could, I would give it to you." Enjolras whispered the words, almost hoping that Grantaire would not hear him. 

"If I were a noble I could ... perhaps he would at last notice me." Grantaire mumbled. 

"He? Who is he? Tell me about him." Enjolras tried not to sound too curious. 

"I do not know what, or who, he is. If you ever saw the man, you would adore him too. His hair is the color of pure gold when it catches the light of the sun. It is beyond compare, truly. He will never notice me." Grantaire got a little bit of fire in his eyes when he spoke. 

"Are you certain?" Enjolras looked at him. 

"Yes. Look at me, I am wearing old rags, and drinking all day until I can no longer keep my feet, while he has fine clothes, lives in a fine house and can afford a pair of boots without having to beg for them" Grantaire's voice was... almost admiring, and more than a little jealousy had found its way in. 

"I think your clothes look fine. A tad bit worn, but that goes for everyone, does it not?" Enjolras replied. 

"Fine? Is that meant to be a compliment?" Grantaire thought he was being mocked, although that was far from Enjolras intentions. 

Enjolras merely nodded. 

"I believe that you have had quite enough of that however." He said and reached for Grantaire's bottle. 

"It is empty. I would go home, if it were not for the fact that I doubt my legs can carry me." Grantaire said. 

"They might not, no." Enjolras got up, however he found his own legs unsteady as well. 

"You do not seem to be much better off yourself." Grantaire observed. 

"I have not had nearly as much as you have." 

"Perhaps not. Although the spirits here are quite potent, as I am sure you are aware." Grantaire laughed a little. 

"I am perfectly sober thank you very much." Enjolras tried to keep his feet but it did not work all too well. 

"Certainly, and I am the king." Grantaire replied. 

"I have met the king, you do not look like him at all." Enjolras said and instantly regretted it. 

"What kind of business can a man like you possibly have with the king?'' Grantaire asked. 

"I did not say I had had business with him. I saw him once, I have never said one word to him." Enjolras, of course, was lying, but Grantaire was not aware of that. 

"Saw him? Where?" Grantaire wondered. 

Enjolras did not answer that. He stumbled out of the tavern and out into the fresh night air. 

"Where are you going?" Grantaire yelled at him. 

"Home. I have to go home." Enjolras mumbled. 

Grantaire said something Enjolras could not hear.

Outside, the rain came pouring down, and it turned the dirt paths to mud. 

There were some men there as well and they appeared to be searching for someone. 

Had Enjolras been sober he would have known them in an instant. However, in his drunk state, he did not.

The men were the local sheriff and a few of the king's soldiers. 

"Have you seen this man?" Enjolras heard them ask any villager who was unfortunate enough to be out in the rain. Some of them were hurrying inside to their warm hearths, while others had no warm hearth to return to. 

Enjolras did not know, nor care who they were after. 

"Sir, I do believe I have seen him." A villager said. 

"Where? Where was he?" The sheriff asked. 

"Right over there sir." The villager, who happened to be the village's blacksmith said and pointed. Straight at Enjolras. 

Enjolras tried to run but his legs could not carry him as fast as he wished. No way was he ever going to outrun a horse anyway, and the sheriff had one. 

Enjolras slipped in the mud and fell. 

A hand pulled him up by his shirt. 

"Let us see what we got here men." A guard said and pulled Enjolras' hood down. 

"You?!" The sheriff exclaimed. 

Enjolras did not know that Grantaire was watching it all. 

"Yes sir. It is me." Enjolras mumbled. 

Two of the king's men grabbed him. 

"We will escort you to the castle, and you shall face the king's justice." 

"And when will that be?" Enjolras asked, with the tone of the diplomat. 

"When the king sees fit, he is a very occupied man, as you certainly know." The guard held a firm grip on him, ensuring that he was not about to run. 

"You do mean he is out of town at present. I am aware." He stated, as rope was tightly fastened around his wrists by one of the king's men. The other end of the rope was held by the sheriff, seated upon his big black stallion. 

"Silence!" The Sheriff roared, urging his horse on, with Enjolras trying to keep up beside it. 

Once they reached the castle, he was lead like an animal down into the dungeons. The door locked behind him and there was no one in this world who cared enough to save him, he knew that already.

**Author's Note:**

> Cumberworld= Useless person.


End file.
